


Finland/Sweden drabbles and shortfics

by bunnyfication



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, Intoxication, Non-Graphic Violence, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-14
Updated: 2011-10-17
Packaged: 2017-10-24 14:42:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 2,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/264650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunnyfication/pseuds/bunnyfication
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Finnish Civil War of 1918, reds vs whites. Nasty business all around.</p>
          </blockquote>





	1. Serenity

He just watches for a long time, knowing if the other knew he was there this scene would break and scatter, just like the calm surface of a lake is broken by a cast stone. But who could blame the stone for hesitating? It's not the lake that will be lost forever, after all.


	2. Silence

Sometimes the young lord stares at the round faced servant boy in his work, while said servant pretends not to notice, politely. He's not stupid, so he knows it's only safe to look back when the other won't notice. And he's not disappointed he never does, really.


	3. Clarity

Sweden blinks at the sky above him, black spots dancing in the blurred vision he's lately come used to. "Who hit m' " he mumbles, as a familiar (blurred or not) face appears above him.

"Sweden, in the last battle you almost hit me with a sword, yesterday you put gunpowder into the soup...and just now? You walked into a _tree_. I don't care what Denmark said, you _will_ wear those glasses."


	4. Crimson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finnish Civil War of 1918, reds vs whites. Nasty business all around.

Finland washes his hands in the cold water of the stream, but the red won't go away, even as his hands go numb and white from the cold. He stares at the drops that keep welling up, feeling a hysterical sound (laughter? but laughing doesn't feel like this) bubble up from his stomach like bile. He almost chokes on it as arms wrap around him, large hands taking hold of his and folding them closed gently.

"Told ya, don't do that." Sweden tells him, his voice just stern enough not to grate. Finland thinks distantly that anything like pity might break him now.

"Have to get it away, all that..." _Red_. He whispers, fingers flexing, but not hard enough to break Sweden's hold on them. His hands are starting to hurt again as they warm up. Sweden is silent for a moment, and then tells him to close his eyes for a while.

When Finland opens his eyes, his hands have been bandaged again. These are not as white as the one's Germany used earlier, more of an off white color.

Germany...he said he was sorry, and Finland had to bite his lip not to snap back, because hadn't the other country just helped him, even if this wasn't what they'd been planning when he'd sent his people to him for training.

To fight for his independence, not...but they _had_ , hadn't they. Those people would have gone to Russia if they would have won, right? That wasn't the way he wanted to go. No. It...for moment he hadn't been sure, but he'd made his mind. Can't go back on that now. Even if he'd hear the gunshots in his ears forever, and that endless scream of the one for whom it hadn't been enough... _don't think of that!_

The bandages are starting to get stained again already.

"I...I have to wash it away." Finland whispers. Sweden sighs, and takes off his mittens, which he pulls over the bandages covering Tino's hands. Then he pulls on the ribbons around the wrists until they're pulled tight, and ties them into a hard knot.

"There. Don't ya take them off until your hands are all good, 'kay?"

Finland could tell Sweden he can't order him anymore, hasn't for a long time now. He just doesn't feel like it.


	5. Practice Makes Perfect

Once, in the safe darkness of a shared bed, half asleep, Finland told Sweden he was no good at romantic gestures. He often wonders what his life would have been like if Berwald had understood it for the compliment it was meant to be.


	6. a m'ssunderstandin', honest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> http://www.petitiononline.com/lugums18/petition.html Re. that one time Latvia asked to be occupied by Sweden. Awkward.

"Sweden, what."

This was said in the classical tone employed by any wife, who, upon returning home finds their husband in the arms of their distant underaged relative. Except of course Finland would have felt it necessary to point out that he was not, strictly speaking, Sweden's wife (really Su-san, that joke was _born_ old, and what would the others think...what do you mean anniversary?)

That, however, isn't the issue here.

The tableau in the living room remained frozen for one long, awkward moment. Then Latvia giggled nervously and hid his face against Sweden's bare chest, while said nation went a shade redder, before he paled. Finland gave Sweden a look that said he'd better hear an explanation very soon or things would become unpleasant. Very.

" 's not wh't looks like"

"Oh, you mean you aren't molesting Latvia in our house, while he...seems to be under influence?"

"t'was a miss'nderstanding."

At Finland's incredulously lifted eyebrow, Sweden tried to push the younger boy away, but he just giggled some more and clung on tighter. Sweden looked towards Finland pleadingly.

"Help m' get rid of 'im?"

Finland sighed and went to work on that.

With their combined effort they eventually managed to dislodge Latvia, which was more difficult than one would think, and involved Finland's mistaken attempt to imitate Russia (just made Latvia cling more) and other things best left forgotten.

Once things had calmed down, Finland pieced the story from Sweden's explanation. Apparently he'd happened to be on a walk near Latvia's house, and the younger country had tried to...offer himself.

Finland pinched at the bridge of his nose to stall of a headache.

"Oh, not again..."

"said no but then 'e went towards s'me rich Russian guy...didn't like the look o' im."

"Okay, so then you took him home."

Sweden shrugged.

" 'es."

"And he...missunderstood your intentions."

A haunted look.

" 'es."

It could have been worse, Finland supposed. Best to take the whole thing with humor.

"Well, good thing we have it all straightened out then," he said brightly. "But I hope you realize you can't keep him, right?"

Sweden blinked. His look was disturbingly familiar, just like when he'd brought home Sealand...

"Wh' n't?"


	7. 1995 IIHF World Championship

Berwald had almost fallen asleep when the doorbell finally rang, long and raucously, like the person ringing it was leaning on it or something. He got up, stumbling through the half dark house. When he opened the door, he was met by a beaming, intoxicated Tino, who was leaning heavily on the doorjamb. And the bell.

"Su-cwan!" Tino slurred and draped himself all over the other nation. He positively stank of alcohol. It brought color on his still pale cheeks, and for a fleeting moment Sweden was reminded of the time before the crash, of his lover in the sharp suits, bringing him expensive gifts and just laughing when he'd asked where he'd got the money.

Thankfully, there was no feverish gleam in Tino's eyes now, as Berwald saw before Tino flung his arms around him and leaned on him heavily. The Swede stumbled under the sudden weight, even thought Tino was still too thin.

Berwald felt his forehead again, relieved when he found it cool. A bit too cool from the cold spring night, even. Apparently Tino had lost his hat somewhere, and Berwald glared at him for it, his expression saying _trying to get deathly ill **again** , you idiot?_. Tino just blinked at him, and swayed closer, his breath reeking of the damn alcohol he'd been drinking.

"Ya'r drunk," Berwarld grumbled, and tried to push the other further away. Then he had to promptly grab him again when Tino started to fall.

Unthankfully, Tino merely used his new space to poke Berwald in the chest.  
"I'mma celebor-celeb...having a party!" Tino exclaimed. Then he leaned closer and snickered.

"Do you know why, Su-shan~?"

Berwald rolled his eyes.  
"Ya beat me at Hockey, big deal."

Tino sighed and leaned his head on Berwald's shoulder. His breath felt rather nice there, especially now Berwald's nose had shut down from the smell of it.

"Isn't it?" Tino asked, in a quiet voice.

Berwald hesitated. Tino had looked so happy, like he hadn't in a while, not during the last three years. Maybe he deserved to gloat a bit, after finally getting better and...he hadn't won before this, had he?

"M'be," Berwald conceded.

Tino looked up at him from under his messy bangs, his eyes glinting mischievously. He swayed forward again, and when Berwald tried to step back, he found himself suddenly against a wall. Where did that come from?

"Mm, good, now we won't fall over," Tino mumbled, his last words breathed into Berwald's mouth as he pressed closer. Tino made a small hungry sound, and Berwald found himself unable to say no to it, and instead let the other country kiss him deeply. He wondered if a person could get drunk from just the taste of alcohol from another's mouth, because he felt dizzy already.

Tino pulled back and licked at his reddened lips.

"Remember our...agreement?" he whispered, one of his hands insinuated itself inside Berwald's trousers to fondle his ass, while the other tried to open the top button of said trousers. It wasn't going that well, drunk as he was.

Berwald was uncertain whether he should help or leave Tino to his plight.

"Y'r drunk. Stop'it." He told the other.

Tino raised his head to look him in the eye, abandoning his pursuits to wrap his arms around Sweden's neck instead, and pulled him down for another kiss. A hard, bruising kiss this time, his tongue plunging into Berwald's mouth almost aggressively. Berwald felt overwhelmed by such untypically passionate behavior. Overwhelmed by the need it woke in himself.

When Tino finally pulled back, they were both breathing hard and Berwald could feel a painful inprint from his glasses on the bridge of his nose. Which he couldn't have cared less about, what with the distracting tighness of his trousers.

"You lost, own up." Finland said with a sweet smile, and what he really meant was: _You want this as much as I do._

*

Tino, damn him, was humming **that** song*. _Spoils of war_ , he'd said earlier when Berwald had pointed out it was supposed to be _his_ winning anthem. When Tino opened his mouth, Berwald clapped a hand over it. Tino snickered around the hand, and then suckled on one finger, which was really too much at this point.

"D-don't you dare sing't." His growl turned into an embarrass gasp as Tino thrust in. Despite all the preparations earlier, it was almost too much, and Berwald had to bite his lip not to ask Tino to stop and get off him.

Because he **had** promised, and Tino had finally won the bet after eight years, and god yes please that was a good place...!

Berwald utterly forgot to feel embarrassed for the things he did and said from that moment onward. Later, he had a pretty hazy recollection of it anyway.

But at least Tino was too busy to contemplate singing for the moment (nevermind that he played the song continuously for what felt like the following _year_ , that was later).

Some jokes were just too tasteless to bear, even from one's wife. Especially at the moment said wife was fu...well, it was just a matter of principle.


	8. Eurovision Song Contest 2006

"Do you think they are too scary or something? I mean, the whole of Europe is watching and...some of my people didn't think it was a good idea..."

Finland took another potato chip from the bowl on his lap and munched on it nervously.

Sweden shrugged and resisted the urge to roll his eyes. It was just the Eurovision Song Contest. Like Finland's freaks were going to be the weirdest act there. Finland was just overthinking things like usual.

The downside of being really close to your spouse was that after a while they began to hear even the things you chose _not_ to say.

Therefore, Finland gave him a glare and prodded at Berwald's elbow with one salt encrusted hand, leaving a greasy stain on Sweden's shirt.

"Like I don't know how big a deal you make of choosing your performer every year." Finland griped affectionately.

"Let's just watch'it." Berwald sighed.

*

"Huh. Lookin' pretty good. For ya."

Finland shook his head, staring at the television with a disbelieving look on his face.

"No...I'm sure someone's going to catch up any moment, there's just no way..."

*

At some point, they had fallen into silence, the only sound in the room the repetition of numbers, adding up inexorably, bringing the same name to front time and time again. When it was clear no other performance was going to catch up, Berwald finally managed to tear his eyes away from the monitor, and look at the nation sitting next to him.

The flickering lights were painting Finland's face sort of bluish, and it was gleaming on his wide open eyes. His face was slack, and his mouth had fallen open a bit. As Berwald was watching, he closed it, and turned to look at Sweden.

Very slowly, a wide smile streched Finland's lips, and then, quite suddenly, his face crumpled up and he dug his face into Berwald's shoulder. Berwald patted the blond head awkwardly, and made vague calming noises as the other nation sobbed quietly.

Really, he could live with Tino being a bit more predictable, sometimes.


End file.
